


silver lights, moon of mine

by tarkus



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarkus/pseuds/tarkus
Summary: the one where Wonshik prays for the loneliness to stop and Taekwoon may or may not be the moon;





	silver lights, moon of mine

Kim Wonshik is only four years old when he asks his mother about that big white dot in the sky. His mother sweetly explains to him that the thing is called ‘ _moon_ ’ and that it controls the tides of the sea.

Wonshik doesn’t know what tides are, or why that big white thing would like to control them, but he thinks it’s pretty. The thing called moon.

Kim Wonshik is seven when he goes for a weekend trip to the countryside with his grandparents. There, at night, he thinks he will be scared by the lack of noises and lights. He doesn’t, though.

When everyone is sound asleep in their rooms, Wonshik steps outside the bedroom, barefoot and wearing spaceship pajamas, and walks towards the door. Wonshik is seven, but he isn’t dumb as the other kids from his class make him out to be. He’s seven, and he unlocks the front door with ease, stepping outside and following the rocky path until his feet touch the grass. The night is silent and dark, so different from his town, but there’s one thing he thinks it’s worth stepping outside. Looking up and up, Wonshik sees the moon, big and round and _shiny_ , casting shadows on the yard, giving every place a silvery glow that almost looks dreamy.

Wonshik is seven when he first talks to the moon.

But then life happens, and the moon is always there anyway.

Wonshik is thirteen when he gives his first kiss to a girl who’s equally embarrassed by their actions.

And Wonshik is still young and still having a little bit of teenage angst when he steps inside a church, and everyone there prays to this god who’s crucified and bleeding. He doesn’t understand why they would do such a thing.

The years go by fast, not giving Wonshik a time to stop and think. But the moon is always there, and maybe he talks to it every night (or most of the nights, when he’s not drop dead tired or whatever.)

It’s a constant, with its phases, crescents, fulls and news. By the time Wonshik reaches his twenties he knows almost everything about the moon, the name of its seas, its history, its shape and cycles. And it’s a funny thing when he goes out on a date with a girl, and she starts to talk about astrology and how the moon is in pisces and he only nods, feigning ignorance.

Because knowing everything that there is to know about a satellite isn’t a particular trait he wants to disclose.

Wonshik is twenty-one when he discovers that life is fragile and that maybe he should be paying more attention to it. It’s a car crash, in the middle of a rainy night, and Wonshik is alone, as he often is. There’s no moon in sight, and the skies are raging, telling him about sins and guilt. There’s blood on his hands and blood on his clothes, and Wonshik prays for the only thing he knows. He prays for the _moon_ even though it’s impossible to reach out for it.

Wonshik is lucky to end up with only a broken nose and a broken car.

Things change then.

He gets more careful, observant.

And he prays.

He prays when he finally graduates college, and he prays when he manages to rent a small but cozy apartment just for him. It’s only one room for the whole thing, but there’s a small _balcony_ , and that means the world for Wonshik.

By the time Wonshik reaches twenty-six, he’s glad. Still praying, still believing and fearing. But glad, nonetheless.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

It’s on a lonely winter night, when he gets home frustrated because of work and responsibilities, that instead of going right to bed to sleep his headache away, Wonshik opts for going to the balcony instead.

He opens the door carefully, so to not let the cold air enter his small apartment. The wind blows, freezing his fingers and making his body shiver.

But Wonshik is not venturing outside in the middle of winter only to endure the hardships of low temperatures.

The thing is, it gets lonely. Living and trying to thrive in the world. Wonshik guesses it’s the major rule of the human ways or something like that. He’s not fond of dwelling into that too much. However, lonely he feels, sometimes.

And those are the times he looks outside, searching for the only constant in his life.

Of course he knows it’s a full moon’s night, he wouldn’t be hanging on the balcony’s grid just to take a glimpse of the satellite otherwise. It floats on the sky as its only ruler, so bright and shiny even the stars disappear.

It’s one of Wonshik’s favorite kind of nights, when the moon is so physically _there_  he can almost feel its energy, almost touch it.

When he was younger, he had dreamed of exploring the moon, of touching its soils, adventuring in its frozen seas.

But the reality of a future is always different, and Wonshik is alone on a full moon’s night.

He decides to pray then, pray for a change, for inspiration, some light.

Clarity.

Here it’s how his prayer goes: Wonshik closes his eyes, tilts his head a little bit back just so he can feel the moonlight touching his skin, and then he starts to whisper. He begins by saying a small greeting, just a gentle hello to make things less awkward. After that, he starts thanking for another day living, and then he talks about his past month, the hardships, the pleasant moments. It feels almost like chatting with an old friend.

Wonshik likes his prayers that way. It doesn’t feel _holy_ or _important_. It’s just… talking. It eases the loneliness.

Far away, he hears the sound of sirens and an airplane taking off. Right down the streets, he hears some drunk people screaming and laughing.

The place is not ideal for prayer, but Wonshik keeps going anyway, finishing his monthly tale with a little remark about how his friends want to make a small house party for his birthday next week.

And after all that, he takes a deep breath, just to get ready for his next words:

“… hey, so. That’s it, I guess? I – I wanted to also… make a request, if possible.”

He looks up to the moon, its light casting shadows on his face.

“I’m sorry for asking you this, especially because I don’t know if you can grant me this but. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. I tried, so hard, to find someone, to _love_ someone. It simply… doesn’t work. Can you help me out? Can you make me less lonely?” Wonshik asks, quite desperately, to the big silver circle up above.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen, mainly because it was an unreasonable request.

However, he takes his time to get back inside, gazing one last time at the moon before closing the balcony doors and stumbling into bed, hoping for a dreamless night.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

Wonshik is not used to vivid dreams. In fact, he’s not used to dreaming coherent things at all. That’s the reason why, when he opens his eyes, shivering because of the unexpected _cold_ , he thinks he’s living reality.

He blinks, slowly, trying to ease off the sleepiness of his mind, looking at his surroundings. He first takes notice of the glimmering, silver light coming from outside the windows, and then he takes note of the open door of the balcony, the floating curtains, the impossible cold winter air surrounding his whole apartment.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath.

It’s not usual for him to forget the basics of living alone – which, closing the doors is basically rule number one. But it’s fine. Everything is _fine_ for Wonshik because at least he woke up before freezing, right?

So, he gets up, body still lazy, hazy from sleep. His bare feet touch the fake-wooden floor, and, in just a few steps, he gets to the balcony.

His view of the outside is clouded by the white curtains, but, right before he stands his arm to close the doors, he hears.

Something.

A low hum; a song.

Being sung by the softest voice Wonshik had ever heard.

He still thinks he’s living in the real world when he ventures outside, just a step in the balcony – really.

And then he sees.

Shining, glistening, in all silvers and cool blues. Silk garments and jewelry made of silver and sapphires, a pale face, wide eyes. A blush on the cheeks.

A _dream_.

Wonshik stops and feels like he’s unable to move anywhere because the person standing right in front of him can only be a very lucid and beautiful dream.

But, because it’s still _very real_ , a gust of wind blows and Wonshik _feels_ the cold encompassing him like a slap on the face.

The person-dream-man looks at him then, finally taking notice of the other occupant of the balcony.

“Oh, is it too cold?”

A dream-like voice echoes, but Wonshik isn’t sure if he only hears inside of his mind or if the words actually left the pretty mouth of the man.

“I –” he tries, thinking on what to say.

But he stops at once, not knowing how to react in front of someone so otherworldly. He could, obviously, ask who that man was, or what was he doing in his balcony. However, there’s no point in asking useless questions when you’re inside a dream, so, with a small smile, Wonshik answers with:

“No, actually, it’s okay. Are you okay?”

 _It’s a dream_ , Wonshik keeps repeating to himself, as the man takes one step closer, eyes assessing him, only a dream, he repeats and repeats, until he feels a cold –too cold– hand touching his face.

“You’re always the one to worry, aren’t you?” The man-dream says, slow and soft, and the moment seems way too intimate and well, maybe Wonshik deserves some sweet soothing dream like this, so he indulges himself, leaning into the contact.

“I don’t know how to be anything else.”

The man-dream sighs, taking a step back.

And maybe that was the wrong answer to the question because the man-dream looks at him one last time and just… disappears into thin air.

Just like that.

It takes a couple of seconds, a minute, maybe, for him to realize he’s shivering and that he’s still standing in the balcony.

Maybe it was a dream, maybe Wonshik is really getting exhausted to the point of hallucinating ethereal beings. Either way, he just makes his way to the bed again (making sure the balcony doors are appropriately closed this time) and falls asleep.

 

That night, Wonshik dreams of absolutely nothing.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

When morning comes, with a few rays of sunshine here and there, Wonshik feels dizzy. He goes throughout his routine automatically, trying not to think of anything, trying not to think about the meaning that lies on his dreams, or, if there’s even a meaning at all.

He refrains on searching about it when he arrives at work, desperately trying to erase the image of the man-dream out of his mind.

But it’s impossible.

And something feels amiss, too.

 _It’s the anxiety and the exhaustion_ , he tells himself, tries to. But it’s also much more, isn’t it? He wants to see that man-dream again, wants to say the right things, so he doesn’t disappear. Wonshik wants… Wonshik wants to not feel lonely anymore.

Obviously, that is a problem that can’t be solved by dreaming, so he does the most logical thing someone his age does in situations like that.

He buys a beer pack and lets himself inside his apartment. Alcohol, perhaps, it’s one of the easiest ways to ease someone’s pain, and Wonshik can be a fool and a lonesome idiot, but he at least has that.

After the third bottle, he starts feeling sleepy, and that’s his cue to get to bed and just end the day already. He checks for the balcony doors, making sure they are closed ( _open_ ), and then he checks the front door too, just for good measure. When he finally lets himself lay down, he stares at the ceiling, sensing the alcohol working through his system and making him feel weightless, almost floating on the bedsheets.

He closes his eyes and prays for nothing.

( _he prays for something_ )

 

Wonshik’s eyes shot open the moment he hears a low hum. He notices the glittering lights and the dream-like appearance of the whole room at first, and then he feels the cold. He’s shivering, of course, and, as expected, the balcony door is open again.

Careful footsteps –and some sort of curiosity mixed with fear– lead him to outside, the view he was expecting unfolding in front of him: silver lights and the beautiful moon, with reality blurring around the edges, making Wonshik feel like he stepped inside another place entirely. _Maybe he has_.

And, as expected, the man-dream standing right _there_ , sitting on the grid, legs and silvery garments swinging in the air. Wonshik panics at seeing that, thinking on the dangers of falling from the 13th floor could do, but then the man-dream looks at him, and he remembers.

 _It’s just a dream_.

He lets himself relax, taking deep breaths.

The man-dream keeps looking at him quizzically and Wonshik approaches, looking at anywhere but at the man’s face, because it’s too pretty, otherworldly. He opts for the floor, taking solace on the dust and dirt.

There’s silence, a lot of it, and then Wonshik gets tired. Of the floor and the loneliness, probably, so he decides to speak:

“You’re here again.”

It’s not a question, and it probably sounds harsher than what he intended, but it’s a beginning, nonetheless.

The man-dream chuckles, and it sounds cute and out of place.

“That I am.”

Wonshik blinks, looking at silk and jewelry that shouldn’t even exist.

“Why?”

There’s movement, and the man-dream turns his body slightly, facing Wonshik. Even then, he doesn’t dare to look at the other’s face.

 _It’s just a dream_ , he repeats.

“Tell me about your day,” the man-dream says calmly.

And that’s probably the weirdest dream Wonshik ever had, and he’s as lost as he can be, so he decides to look.

Silver hair, pale skin and a small smile are the things that greet him.

He takes one step back.

“I – I have nothing to tell.”

The man-dream frowns, and the motion seems wrong in such a pretty face. Wonshik tries to remedy that.

“What are you doing here?”

Upon hearing the question, the man-dream blinks, surprised, and it makes him look young and _lost_. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so he just shuts it, piercing Wonshik with a gaze that says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Wonshik says, trying for the life of him to mend the situation as best as he can, but it feels so awkward; dreams shouldn’t feel awkward at all. “It’s just that… you’re in my balcony.”

“Oh.”

Wonshik slaps himself mentally because if this is a dream – which it is – then he shouldn’t be interrogating the man-dream; instead, he should do whatever he wants to do, after all, it’s _his_ dream, right?

It takes a lot of courage (and two steps ahead) for Wonshik to close the distance between them and brush their lips together. He feels nothing but the cold, and maybe he hears a sigh somewhere, but when he _looks_ there’s nothing in front of him, and his lips are only touching the icy cold air of winter.

There’s the frustration settling inside his heart, and a dream shouldn’t make him feel like this – but it does. 

He doesn’t know how he gets to bed again, but soon he’s laying down, closing his eyes.

Wonshik prays to forget.

( _to remember_ )

 

⭒☾⭒

 

It’s Saturday when Wonshik wakes up, which means he can do whatever he wants. But there’s this thing about weekends that makes him melancholic and longing for something that it’s impossible to have, mainly because he doesn’t know what that _something_ is.

He decides to stay in bed and read one of the books he had bought so long ago. The pile of books is always growing, and Wonshik never reads them. Maybe today is the day to start doing it.

However, as much as he forces himself to concentrate on the words written, his mind is elsewhere.

His next option is the tv, but that’s boring as well, so he decides the best thing to do is to move.

A walk around the neighborhood it is. But it’s cold; the kind of winter day where everything is tinted a shade of sad grey. The harsh winds are the worst part of it, of course.

Nothing else comes to mind, and he returns to his apartment feeling more restless than when he left.

 _It’s the anxiety_ , he says to himself. _The exhaustion_.

It can be a lot of things, but Wonshik resigns himself from overthinking. It’s better to just wait for the night to settle in and just… wait.

When evening comes around, with a starless sky and the moon hidden in the clouds, Wonshik can only hope for a change.

 

Ages pass, but it’s just a few hours, really, when he opens his eyes and sees himself surrounded by silver and blurriness. A dream, his dream, _the_ dream.

Wonshik knows what to expect this time, so he doesn’t think twice and walks to the balcony. There’s no fear anymore when he looks at the man-dream.

Tonight he looks more real, human. It’s the casual clothes, the jeans and white t-shirt, that does the trick. But his face is still of someone who doesn’t belong anywhere other than in his dreams.

They stare at each other until Wonshik gets tired and waves, muttering a small ‘hello’ that leads to nowhere. 

“Tell me about your day.” It’s the answer that comes from man-dream, just like before.

Maybe the dream is repeating itself, and Wonshik is _tired_.

“Nothing much,” he replies, trying to sound carefree but coming out as hollow. “I feel lonely.”

The man-dream raises his eyebrows and open his arms.

An invitation of sorts.

Wonshik lets himself be hugged by the man-dream because it’s a dream and he can do whatever he wants.

It feels cold and borderline wrong, but right at the same time.

He couldn’t describe the sensation of being in the arms of man-dream even if he wanted. It feels like his heart is shattering and being mended at the same time.

He stays there, until man-dream starts to hum, until the moon appears in the sky, illuminating them both, until he closes his eyes and there’s nothing more.

 

When he opens his eyes, he’s in bed, and the sun is shining again.

With a sigh, Wonshik prays for the dreams to ( _never_ ) stop.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

Right after sunset, Wonshik receives a message. It’s Hongbin, of course, wanting to meet up and maybe play some games. But Wonshik doesn’t feel like interacting with anyone or anything, doesn’t want to spread his melancholy to his dear friend. He types a fast response, though, and with that, he waits for night to come in.

He finds himself yearning for silver and coldness, and that’s the reason he moves one of his chairs to the balcony – where it doesn’t quite fit, but it’s alright – and stays there, blankets and blankets on top of him.

Wonshik is surely an idiot, but he’s also hopeful. Maybe those two things come hand in hand.

In the end, it doesn’t matter, because when he closes his eyes and opens them again, man-dream stands in front of him.

Man-dream also comes with blurriness and the cold, which is expected. What Wonshik doesn’t expect is for man-dream to crouch in front of him and shake his head, a disapproving look on his face.

“Why are you outside?” Man-dream asks in a barely audible whisper.

It doesn’t take much for Wonshik to answer: “I was waiting for you.”

Something in the air between them changes, something that wasn’t there starts to grow, and Wonshik can see clearly the surprise written all over man-dream's face.

“You shouldn’t. It’s winter.”

Wonshik knows that, and he also knows this is a _dream_ , so he does whatever he wants.

He rushes forward, stumbling a little because of the blankets, but managing to embrace man-dream all the same.

It feels different than last time ( _last night_ ), it’s still cold and wrong, but not so quite. Wonshik can sense man-dream chuckling, and when he looks at the other’s eyes, he sees stars and a glimpse of something else. Man-dream’s skin is pale, but in the silver light, Wonshik can almost see a blush spreading on his cheeks.

That’s enough to make Wonshik lean further and, without thinking on consequences, kiss the man-dream’s lips.

It tastes of ice and sweetness.

But before it ends, Wonshik grabs man-dream’s shoulder and says:

“Don’t go.”

Man-dream can only smile sadly before the blurriness starts to flow around the edges of his very being.

With his heart beating way too fast, Wonshik pulls man-dream into his arms and gives one last kiss.

But it tastes of nothing.

 

That night, Wonshik doesn’t pray.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

Monday comes with dread – as always.

Work comes with frustration and nervousness – as always.

And night, well, night comes with a moon that isn’t quite full anymore.

Instead of talking to it as he always does, he tries something different, he tries drinking the last couple of beers that are still in his fridge.

 _To forget_ , he says to himself.

But he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to, or perhaps because there’s actually nothing he can possibly forget.

It’s confusion and drunkenness that make him go to bed early.

And it’s probably a mix of everything that has been going on in his life that makes him merely sleep.

 

On Monday, Wonshik doesn’t dream.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

He spends Tuesday thinking over and over on what he did wrong.

Of course there’s nothing wrong but…

But he hoped for something that didn’t happen, and he can’t remember what was _supposed_ to happen in the first place.

With dread and guilt, he finds himself at night standing outside. There’s no moon in sight; instead, there’s a thin rain falling from the skies.

It suits his moods just fine, and it makes the whole ordeal of kneeling on the cold ground of his balcony more poetic, tragic.

Wonshik kneels and Wonshik prays.

It’s a different prayer this time, with less talking and more begging. He begs for normalcy and affection; he prays for silver lights and icy touches.

Wonshik does that until his knees start to hurt and his lips start to crackle with the cold. His fuzzy mind barely registers movement, until something – someone – is kneeling by his side. A soft touch on his shoulder, a soft whisper on his ear.

“I don’t want you to get sick, Wonshik.”

Oh, and his name, being spoken by the soft voice he had almost forgotten, makes his eyes go a little watery.

“I thought I had lost you,” he says, searching for something in man-dream’s eyes.

“You could never.”

And at that moment, Wonshik finds what he was searching for.

The realization makes him laugh and throw his arms around man-dream’s shoulders.

 _It’s a dream it’s a dream_.

It certainly is a dream, especially when man-dream starts to laugh with him, giving him little pecks on his cheeks.

The moment feels intimate and sacred, and that’s why, when Wonshik senses reality turning, shifting, he just let it fade. Wonshik accepts, and man-dream kisses him right on the lips.

It tastes of sugar and long-lost memories.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

On Wednesday Wonshik _smiles_. He smiles to his coworkers, and he smiles to the people walking down the streets. He smiles because he wants and because he can.

He also finally texts his friends, telling them everything is settled for his party on Friday.

Getting old doesn’t seem quite bad, he muses.

When night comes, the moon is already obviously not full anymore, and that could mean something, but he doesn’t pay attention.

He’s _smiling_ as he tidies his tiny apartment, and he’s almost singing as he gets himself ready for sleep.

That night Wonshik prays for more days ( _nights_ ) like that.

 

Man-dream is there, right in front of Wonshik, when he opens his eyes.

Man-dream never stepped inside his apartment before, but maybe something is changing.

There’s still silver and fogginess wherever he looks, but all doesn’t matter when –

Without warning, man-dream hovers above him, his eyes cloudy with something. At this proximity, Wonshik notices some things: how his skin is not glimmering that much anymore, how his lips have lost their rosy color, how his hair looks more grayish.

Man-dream looks just like a _dream_ and at the same time… not.

Wonshik dares to touch, to feel the coldness in his hands, but when man-dream leans into the contact, closing his eyes and sighing softly, he notices how his skin _burns_.

“Who are you?” Wonshik asks, sliding an arm around man-dream’s waist and pushing him close – too close.

There’s no answer for Wonshik, so he treads his fingers on man-dream’s hair, noticing how silky and soft it is.

Man-dream is a _dream_ , but that doesn’t mean he’s no one.

“Are you… real?” Wonshik ventures.

A chuckle, a kiss.

Sugar on his lips.

“Do you want me to be?”

“I –”

“It’s okay,” man-dream interrupts, his eyes roaming Wonshik’s face. “You were lonely, but you don’t have to be anymore.”

“What?”

Another chuckle, a playful bite, something burning inside his veins.

Before he notices, before he can act, man-dream vanishes, leaving Wonshik alone with only the darkness of the night.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

His coworker tells him he’s having lots of mood swings lately, and Wonshik can’t do anything more than agree with her.

He _is_ having mood swings.

It’s probably because of… something that he’s forgetting.

There’s something just right there, in the corner of his mind, but when the sun is shining, making everything seems so vivid, he can’t quite remember.

His head hurts like hell when he arrives home late at night.

Today was supposed to be special, his last day before he gets old and adds another year to his list of years lived. But he doesn’t feel a single thing when he lays in bed and stares at the balcony door – wide open, _why is it open? Who opened it?_

And then Wonshik _remembers_.

He stumbles to the ground and makes a run to the open door, staring at the only person who could be there at such hour.

Man-dream smiles at him, but it’s laced with sadness, Wonshik can feel it, can _sense_ it right down his core.

They hold hands, not daring to speak a single word. Years go by – but it’s only minutes, they both know that – before Wonshik feels the tug that he knows will come sooner than later. He expects for man-dream to disappear, as he always does.

However, something about this night is different.

Man-dream takes a deep breath, unclasping their linked hands, and, with some sort of swiftness, kisses Wonshik right on the lips.

The kiss tastes of intimacy and shared secrets. 

It ends too soon, and Wonshik finds himself pleading to the other:

“Please, please don’t go! I – ”

He can’t quite form the words he wants to say, making him feel useless and restless. Desperate.

“I won’t,” man-dream replies.

But surely, as Wonshik tries to kiss him again, he disappears.

 

⭒☾⭒

 

When Wonshik wakes up the next day, a year older than what he was last night, he feels that nothing changed at all. He’s still him, and he’s still alone.

 _That’s not the point_ , he tells himself as he goes about his day as he usually does.

Nothing abnormal happens until he decides to look into his balcony, just out of curiosity, something in his soul urging him to do that. He feels his heart beating faster when he looks at the small space.

In the morning light, Wonshik sees.

A piece of silver, just right _there_ on the ground, lifeless but so full of hope.

Wonshik picks it to inspect, to see if it’s _real_.

It turns out it is.

A necklace, fragile and thin and made of silver, with a moon pendant hanging from it. The wind blows and the moon is a waxing crescent, the wind blows again, and it turns into a waning crescent. Wonshik lifts it up, marveling at how well-crafted it is, and placing it right where the moon should be in the skies. It fits perfectly.

He laughs, and when he laughs, he also prays.

( _for the moon and for kisses and_ )

 

⭒

⭒

⭒

 

His friends bustle inside his tiny apartment like they own the thing, but Wonshik doesn’t have the mind to complain when he’s _laughing_. It may all be because of the unique necklace he now wears around his neck, or, because he had missed them so much.

Quick hugs are given and warm pats on his back, lots of ‘happy birthday’ and all that.

It’s only when the commotion dies down a little that he sees that one more person is standing there.

He looks, and he knows his eyes are deceiving him in some way.

The person looks away, embarrassed.

“Oh, Wonshik,” he hears Hakyeon says right next to him, but he doesn’t process much, not at all. “Remember when I told you I would bring a friend? This is him!”

And look, Hakyeon is too eager and too cheerful for this situation.

Because.

Well, because the man in front of him shouldn’t _exist_.

He faintly registers some of the other guys opening bottles and laughing, but he can’t do anything other than to stare at the man in front of him, and Hakyeon is still talking.

“… I know I should have told you sooner but Taekwoonie here was so alone and I think it’s about time you two meet each other since…”

Wonshik is barely hearing what Hakyeon is saying because the next moment he is right in front of this man that shouldn’t be here. He looks so familiar it almost hurts. But at the same time, he doesn’t.

Wonshik remembers silver and coldness.

The man in front of him is all dark and greys, a burning gaze.

Maybe that’s answer enough.

“Hi,” he forces himself to speak. “I’m sure Hakyeon already told you everything, but I’m Kim Wonshik, it’s nice to meet you.”

The man smiles – wide and beautifully – giving Wonshik a reason to smile as well.

“Hi Wonshik,” the man says, his voice sweet and low as a _dream_. “Name’s Taekwoon.”

 

Late that night, after many drinks and talks, the alcohol finally settles in, making Wonshik dizzy and wistful. His feet lead him outside, to the balcony and to the cold winds of winter. He raises his head, trying to find something in the sky. He is so engrossed in whatever it was that caught his attention – a beam of silver, an icy touch – that he doesn’t notice the small steps that follow him.

It’s that man named Taekwoon, the impossible man that shouldn’t _be_ , but it’s right there. And Wonshik doesn’t know why he thinks that, really, because of course Taekwoon is gorgeous, but he seems real enough.

 _Real_.

Taekwoon gets close – too close, and Wonshik finds fast enough he doesn’t have the willpower to do anything more than to stare at Taekwoon’s eyes and wait.

It’s the sensation of familiarity and wonder, altogether, that makes him take a step ahead.

Close, closer. Taekwoon stops him with a hand entwining his necklace.

“Where did you get this?” Taekwoon asks softly, almost a whisper.

And Wonshik had heard that voice before, he’s almost sure.

“I got it in a dream.”

It takes two, three seconds, for Taekwoon to blink the confusion away; and it takes five to six seconds for him to close the distance between them and kiss Wonshik right on the lips.

It tastes of red wine and bright futures.

 _It’s real_.

 

That night, Wonshik doesn’t pray, he’s too busy gazing at Taekwoon to notice anything else.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this was supposed to be, but oh well...you know me, I like the strange things;;
> 
> let's talk about the moon! ━━☆⌒*. [twitter](https://twitter.com/tttarkus)
> 
>  


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